


Consequence

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Series: The Atonement Cycle [2]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Past Attempted Suicide, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon finds out that Blake's been emotionally manipulating him. He wants his revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Recompense](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39157) by Hafren. 



> This is part four of seven of a multi-author collaboration done back in the day of the Blake's 7 adult mailing list.  
> I believe it stands alone, but would be better if read as the whole cycle.
> 
> Hafren, the author of the original intriguing story gave me permission to continue in Blake's point of view, the fic she'd written in Avon's point of view. Hafren wrote 1, 3 and 7. I wrote 2, 4, and 6. Nova wrote 5. The series has an eventual happy ending, but plenty of angst along the way.
> 
> Currently all of them can be found [ here.](http://www.liberated.org.uk/1138atonement.htm)
> 
> They were all printed in a zine, 'Tales from Space City 4', but I can't find that on line.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Avon couldn't remember ever being so excited that he couldn't sleep, not even as a child on the night before some special treat.

 _Blake will be here, in my cell, in the morning, and then everything will be all right, forever and ever._ He felt as if every nerve ending was jangling with the sheer joy of being alive. _All I need do is await Blake's arrival. Trust in his promise, as I never trusted before. I have atoned and I have changed._ He remembered another tale from the book.

_"Bend your head as we do," cried the ears of corn; "the angel of the storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky above to the earth beneath. He will strike you down before you can cry for mercy."_

_"But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat."_

That pride destroyed the buckwheat and the willow wept for them. _Blake was hurt because of my pride, but it will all be over and forgiven in the morning. Never forgotten, though. I will never fall back into my evil ways, suspicious, arrogant, sarcastic... why, it was a wonder Blake had even been able to look at me. No one else had, not really. They were angry at first, then awkward around the penitent, and finally, I was simply an animate object, useful, but with no feelings to take into consideration.  
Except to Vila._ Avon's heart warmed as he remembered the number of times Vila had looked directly at him, a brief meeting of eyes whenever no one else was looking, a flash of smile that Avon had never dared return, had not, until this night, had it in him to return.

Vila deserved to share in Avon's joy. _Even though I still have one night to serve in silence, surely I could smile at him. That might be enough to show that I am still his friend, even after so long and so much pain._

_"He spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships to sail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel to break the walls of heaven with. But one single gnat crept into the prince's ear and stung him. The place burnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. Mad with pain, he tore off his clothes, flinging them far away, and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who now mocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, and was overcome by a single little gnat."_

_Yes, Vila would understand. I had been mad to have attempted leadership. Madder still to have abused Vila's loyalty and friendship. I will go to Vila._ Avon rose and dressed before he could change his mind.  
 

 

It was very late, in between shifts, when few people were about. Avon paused, suddenly considering that perhaps Vila was asleep. Probably he was. It was foolish not to have thought of that. _I should go back... Wait. Voices, up ahead._ Avon instinctively gave ground, sidling to an alcove to wait as his betters went past. He was startled when they came closer and he recognised the voices. Vila? And Carnell?

 _They are... well, Vila is drunk. I haven't seen him drunk in over a year, not since... well, since._ Carnell didn't have that smug cat-grin on his face for once, but a look of almost... tenderness as he half-carried Vila to his room.

 _Vila and Carnell? But Vila isn't attracted to men. Is he? He certainly never seemed to be. But Carnell obviously is..._ Avon had seen the man around the base, had heard him referred to as an outside expert brought in by Blake for some specific task. Avon hadn't thought about it. It was none of his business, unless Blake told him it was. _But is he taking advantage of Vila? Should I interfere? And what can I do, in any event? Until morning, until Blake gives me his final release, I must not disobey. If I broke the rules again for nothing more than a suspicion... I should not be so untrusting as to have any suspicions. After all, Blake trusts Carnell, so it must be all right._  
As in the story of the old man who, in a series of trades, brought home to his wife a bag of shrivelled apples in exchange for their horse. The wife trusted him, and so it turned out for the best in the end. The old man had wagered the apples, himself, and his wife, against a bushel of gold, that she would happily accept his judgement.  
"The old man is always right."

_So Blake is right, and Carnell couldn't possibly be doing anything wrong. But still... I had wanted to smile at Vila._

Vila's door opened again while Avon was still hesitating, and Carnell emerged alone and went back down the corridor.

 _There,_ Avon told himself, _you see? The old man is always right. Carnell was merely helping Vila back to his quarters. I can go in and smile at Vila. Maybe he won't remember in the morning, but I'll know that I did it._ Avon hadn't set himself a goal in so long that it felt strange, and he found himself looking about for Blake to give him permission. _Maybe I should just go back to my cell? But Vila..._

Finally Avon decided he would just open the door and look in. If Vila was asleep, as he probably was, then that would be the end of it.

Avon heard the familiar sounds before he was half-way through the door. He rushed for the nearest receptacle. He placed it between Vila's knees and rubbed Vila's back soothingly until the spasm had ended. Avon reminded himself firmly that he was allowed to touch someone in the event of an emergency, and Vila might easily have choked.

After Vila finished, Avon went into the adjoining washroom and brought back a damp cloth and a glass of water. Vila rinsed his mouth, spat into the waste bin, and allowed Avon to wipe his clammy face. Avon was concentrating on the sensation, enjoying the contact, the feeling of having done something for a friend, so he wasn't paying attention to Vila's mutterings at first.

Then he caught the litany he'd said to himself in the silence of his cell, over and over... What has Vila to be sorry about?

"Wasn't right, Av'n. Sorry, sorry. Damn mind-bender, shouldn' let Blake sic 'em on you..."

Avon felt a frown crease his forehead. _I shouldn't be listening to this. It's not respectful of Blake._ He made an attempt to pull away, but Vila clutched at his arm, and Avon couldn't get away without using force, which was, of course, utterly unthinkable.

"Av'n. Blake loves you, y' know that?" Vila looked up at Avon, intent although bleary-eyed.

Perplexed, Avon nodded. Only someone with a tremendous capacity for forgiveness and love could care for Avon. _I am very fortunate that Blake is, by the grace of whatever force of nature created him, able to do so. After so many years as an embittered lonely man, I don't deserve to have been accepted by Blake. "And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor."_

Avon was tired of being an old bachelor.

Vila broke into Avon's musings again. "Blake didn't want to. 's that pup-pup-up..." Vila hiccuped, and Avon patted him on the back. "Puppeteer. Carnell."

Avon sat back, surprised. _Carnell is a psychostrategist? Why would Blake need his services? They are best at predicting... controlling... small groups. One would be unlikely to help with a master strategy against the Federation. Possibly, if there were a morale problem on the base... but everyone on the base is dedicated, loyal..._ Avon's head snapped up and he felt the blood drain from his face, as he realised there was one person who had failed Blake's loyalty test, one person who might be valuable enough to the Cause that Blake might choose to deal with one of the despised puppeteers. Avon felt sick. He still loved and trusted Blake, but he was sick at the realisation of how that trust had been insured, how that love had been used to bind Avon, hand and foot, to Blake's service. To the service of the everlasting, no-sacrifice-too-great Cause.

Avon's hands went still as Vila continued to snuffle and sob and lay bare the whole plot, in randomly chosen order, including Blake's induced illness. Avon's eyes closed briefly at the explanation of the book. _I withstood torture without so much as giving up my name. But for the sake of children's stories, I gave up my will, became Blake's pet, let him master me... no, worse than that. I forged my own chain, and eagerly clipped it to my own collar, all for the privilege of following, the release of not-thinking, the abandonment of all responsibility, even for my own welfare._ Avon sat there, feeling the chill in Vila's heated room as he had not felt it in his bare cell. Numbly he held Vila until his friend... Yes. Vila was always that... until his friend fell asleep. Avon laid Vila down on the bed, carefully, turning him to his side and propping him with pillows in the unlikely event he was ill again.

 _Whom shall I kill first?_ Avon wondered as he left Vila's room as silently as he had entered. _Carnell? Blake? Or myself?_

***

"Avon?"

Avon opened his eyes, startled by Blake's voice, by being wakened by anything other than the buzzer, which he had belatedly recognised as a simulation of the wake-up tone used in his childhood boarding school. The bastards hadn't missed a trick in their attempts to unman him, literally to return him to a malleable child.

Avon rubbed at his eyes, delaying the moment of confrontation while he shook off the last vestiges of dream something about the ice-shards in his heart melting under Blake's tears. He had not expected to sleep upon returning to his cell, but then he was no longer anticipating Blake's arrival as the high point in his life. Betrayal was far too commonplace to excite Avon. He had undressed and got into his bed', thinking as he did that all it lacked was a handful of dried peas beneath the mattress, so that he could prove his delicacy to Blake by the bruises on his pale skin.

"Blake," he said, in a soft, hesitant voice, looking up at Blake in what he hoped to be the proper expression of demure humility to fit the occasion of the prince riding in to collect his prize. He probably hadn't got it quite right, as Blake's brows twisted and his eyes looked troubled.

"Are you all right?" Blake knelt and put his hand out to touch Avon's cheek.

Avon recoiled in distaste, but immediately covered by saying, "He spoke not a word about his old love; for that soon died away. When the beloved object has lain for five years in a gutter, and has been drenched through, no one cares to know her again on meeting her in a dustbin."

"Ah, Avon." The trouble in Blake's eyes deepened. "You mustn't think of yourself like that."

"I mustn't?" Avon asked, then nodded. "To be born in a duck's nest is of no consequence to a bird, if only it is hatched from a swan's egg. 'I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.'" Avon whispered the last, and looked down at Blake's scuffed boots to hide a sudden surge of fury.

Blake heaved a great sigh, and Avon wondered whether he did that in lieu of laughter. It wouldn't do to ridicule one's adoring love-slave, now would it? Avon swallowed bitter words, and waited for Blake's next move.

Avon stiffened as Blake's hand came up, touching lightly, first his shoulder, then gently, oh so gently, fingers running through his hair. "It's over. I forgive you," Blake assured Avon.

"I don't deserve it," Avon said, meaning it, although not in the way Blake expected. "I never deserved you." His voice trembled.

Blake reached out and pulled Avon into a tight embrace. Avon was thoroughly disgusted by his involuntary reaction, which was to relax against the inviting warmth. _But it is good for the show._ Avon forced down the revulsion, but he couldn't slow the racing of his heart, or the increase in his respiration. _Well then, use it,_ Avon thought as he turned abruptly in Blake's grasp, lifting his mouth to Blake's, opening to allow the invasion. Pliant in Blake's big hands, Avon let the thin sheet be stripped from his body, lay docile beneath the exploration and the hungry gaze, which conveniently was sufficient to arouse Avon. _After denying myself for so long, what else should I expect? Despite all appearances to the contrary, I am still human._

Blake stripped off his own clothes and lay atop Avon, hard cocks sliding against each other as Blake rubbed back and forth for a few minutes. It felt too good. Avon turned his head aside, fighting for control. Blake noticed and pulled back, rising to his knees and elbows, still caging Avon, but no longer holding him down. "It's all right," Blake said softly. "Whatever you want. You've earned it. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy."

Avon swallowed. They were both so still that he could see himself reflected in the pupils of Blake's eyes. His image looked frightened. He was frightened, but he didn't know why. He certainly wasn't afraid of Blake. "I want you," Avon whispered, lifting his knees to make his meaning plain.

He hadn't thought it possible, but Blake's eyes grew softer. "Not just to please me, Avon."

"No." And the worst part of it was that Avon did want it, did want everything Blake offered, the sex, the security, and the love. "I... need this."

Blake turned and rummaged through his discarded clothing, coming up with a tube apparently liberated from the medical unit. "I hoped," Blake said, answering Avon's questioning look.

 _More likely, Carnell told you I would deny you nothing._ Avon managed to turn his bared-teeth reaction to that thought into a smile, an awkward one, no doubt, but nervousness might well account for that. Blake wasn't alarmed, which was all that mattered. _I just have to keep him from suspecting anything for a few more minutes..._ Avon took the tube and urged Blake to lie down on the thin mattress. He kissed the length of Blake's body, nibbling and suckling gently at points of interest along the way. Blake was very clean, and actually tasted quite good. Avon looked up to gauge the reaction. Blake had closed his eyes, and flung his head back in complete abandon. Good.

Avon rubbed ointment onto Blake's cock meticulously, playing with Blake's testicles and all the other erogenous zones within reach. Blake responded beautifully, groaning and writhing, rock-hard and twitching wildly under the stimulus. "Avon!" he finally protested, reaching blindly.

Satisfied that Blake was barely able to think, Avon gave himself a few seconds' attention. He didn't wait for the muscle to loosen before settling himself atop Blake, grasping the thick cock and holding it steady while he forced himself down. Avon flung his head back, gasping with the discomfort. It had been a long time since he'd last been raped, and longer still since he'd willingly let a man into his body. The pain was good, because it focused his mind. He began moving before Blake could suspect that there was anything wrong. "That's good, isn't it, Blake?" Avon murmured, angling himself to more perfectly match Blake, to make the ride smoother, faster, deeper. It also hurt less, but that was unimportant.

"Oh, Avon," Blake's voice had dropped into a soft, intimate, honey-sweet growl. His hands roamed over Avon's back, stroking, massaging muscles that had been bruised and strained in Blake's service. _Enjoy yourself, you bastard._ Avon's hips thrust rapidly, driving Blake wild. Things were progressing more quickly than he'd intended. Indeed, Avon was beginning to forget why he was doing this, as the pain fled and all that was left was pleasure. Deliberately he pulled away from Blake, moving forward until he was nearly free. Blake groaned in protest and reached both hands to Avon's hips, pulling him back down, hard. Avon's hand slipped under the mattress. "Blake," he said, just before he lost control. "I want to see your eyes."

Blake shook his head, face flushed and shining with sweat.

"I insist," Avon said quietly, putting the tip of the stolen kitchen knife to the hollow of Blake's throat. "I want..."

Blake's eyes had flown open at the chill touch of steel. They gazed up at Avon, large and clear as a child's. They looked even larger than usual, magnified by the tears that welled up and ran down the sides of Blake's face.

"What are you playing at now!" Avon was frustrated. He'd expected shock from Blake, perhaps anger that his pet had turned on him, and possibly a fragmentary glimpse of fear. Not personal, of course, but the fear that his precious Cause would be damaged by Blake's murder while engaged in sordid sex with a social outcast. He hadn't expected sorrow. "Whatever it is, it won't work." He leaned forward, keeping the knife steady against Blake's pounding pulse. "You've been screwing me for over a year. Why start crying about it now?"

"I'm not," Blake said, then swallowed, and the knife made a thread-thin cut before Avon could stop it. He didn't want to kill Blake accidentally.

"I'm surprised. You're usually a much better liar." Blake wasn't resisting, so Avon moved the knife back a fraction more. He wanted a good long chat before it was over.

"I'm not lying." Blake blinked, and another tear escaped. Avon was particularly irritated by the fact that Blake still retained his dignity. With his cock stuffed up Avon's arse and tears running down his cheeks, Blake still looked like the noble Leader.

"Convince me," Avon suggested. "Or I might not make it a clean death."

Blake sighed. "Obviously, you know what I did."

"What you and Carnell did."

Blake frowned. "You haven't done anything to him, I hope. He was only following my orders."

"As do we all," Avon said, moving slightly simply because the congestion in his own balls was making thinking difficult. Blake moaned again and thrust helplessly. Avon rode the motion easily, and smiled down at Blake in an unfriendly fashion.

"I've cried for you before, Avon. I didn't just start now," Blake said softly. "You can't think I wanted to put you through all this." He waved vaguely at Avon's cell.

"Then why!" Avon ground his hips against Blake, forcing more noise and motion from his victim. "Tell me why and I'll leave your puppeteer alone."

"Because!" Blake gritted his teeth as Avon rode him hard for a few seconds. "Because you were killing yourself!" Blake forced a hand in between them and traced over the scar tissue low on Avon's belly. 

"Don't!" Avon cried out. Blake's hand stilled, but remained, pressed warm against the faint ridges, outlining them.

"You wanted to die. You failed with the gun, but you would have succeeded by strangling all your emotions. I couldn't make you want to live unless..." Blake sighed. "Unless I broke you and remade you. You were miserable leading, you wouldn't follow, and you weren't fit to live on your own." Blake's hand slowly moved until the fingers brushed over Avon's cock. "You loved me then, as I loved you, but neither of us could admit it."

"Love? What you did to me, you did for love?!" Avon shook himself and tried to ignore Blake's hands on him, stroking more firmly now.

"Yes," Blake said simply. "I loved you because you were a stubborn, arrogant," Blake's voice dropped, "beautiful, bastard with even more emotional problems than I have. And I destroyed that man, because while his body lived, I had hope that someday he would return to me, having forgiven himself. You can't kill me and live with it, Avon. If you can't get past what I did, then go."

"And I'm meant to believe you'd let me go?" Avon forced out a laugh.

"Yes."

"After I tried to kill you." Avon stroked the back of the knife over Blake's throat. "Twice?"

"Yes."

"You are the madman, not I," Avon remarked. He turned his head slightly, gazing down at Blake. "And what if I accept your story?"

"What?" Blake looked startled.

"What if, speaking hypothetically, I believe you?" Avon frowned. "It doesn't bode well for the chances of the rebellion."

For the first time, Blake looked annoyed. "Why not?"

"Because," Avon said, looking annoyed right back at Blake, "you kept to this base for a year, stayed in one place, vulnerable to betrayal and don't tell me you've tested everyone's loyalty, as I've seen how unscientifically you go about that. You have expended a great deal of time and effort on one man, strictly for personal reasons, as you've just admitted, and worst of all..." Avon stopped, and glared down into Blake's face. "You have deliberately risked your own life out of soft-heartedness."

Blake opened his mouth to deny the charge, but Avon would not be stopped. "You let an ex-Federation psychostrategist inject a disease pathogen into your body." Avon's eyes were dark with fury. "Even if Carnell was trustworthy, you also had to trust his friend, whom you had never even seen. Even if both of them were faithful, what if you were allergic to the antitoxin? Or if Carnell's friend simply wasn't as clever as he thought he was, and the antitoxin wouldn't work?"

"You're getting paranoid again, Avon. You might as well say 'what if Carnell tripped over Deva and both of them broke their necks after I was unconscious and before they could tell anyone about the antitoxin?'"

"Yes, you might well say that." Avon threw the knife away. He lunged for Blake's mouth and kissed him hard, then lifted his head. "You need a paranoid around you, Blake, to temper some of your outrageous optimism."

Blake grinned, and it was like watching the spark that fell into the Phoenix's nest, burn... _No! I am not going to that damn book for my metaphors. Blake smiled. That ought to be enough._ "We have unfinished business," Avon said as he resumed his interrupted ride.


End file.
